Land of My Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  “I’ll call,” the man finally said.

  “Fold,” Trenton declared. “This game’s too rich for my blood.”

  Henry laughed. “Shouldn’t let babies play with cards.” The men at the table laughed, except for the man with the tick.

  Henry turned over his hand. “Cowboys and ladies,” he said, revealing three kings and two queens. “Full house.”

  The man lost all color in his face as he turned over his hand. Trenton noted the flush was complete, but it wasn’t a straight flush and it wasn’t a royal. Henry had won the hand.

  “You’re cheating!” the man declared, standing abruptly. He reached for Henry’s arm and yanked at the French cuff. The cufflink flew across the table, and to Trenton’s disappointment, two cards fell out from the open sleeve. “I told you so!”

  The men at the table, all fairly wealthy businessmen, were in no mood for a cheat. “Call for the police. Have this man taken to jail.”

  Trenton got to his feet. “I’ll take him there myself. Stupid old man.”

  The waiter had already gone to rally the law, however, so the men at the table were in no hurry to turn him over to anyone.

  “He can wait,” the man with the tick announced. “I want to make sure the officer hears my side of the story.”

  “You’ve got me all wrong, boys. I wasn’t cheatin’. Honest. This is the first hand I’ve won. You know that.”

  They looked at each other, almost as if considering his words, then shook their heads collectively.

  An officer appeared in no time at all and took down the names and addresses of each man at the table. As he took Henry into custody and headed down the back stairs, Trenton got to his feet. “Well, I must say this game had more excitement for me than anything in a long while, but I need some sleep. I have an important business meeting in the morning.”

  The men bid Trenton good night, seeming no more interested in what he was about than they were in what would happen to Henry DuPont. Trenton raced through the lobby of the hotel and out onto the street, meeting up with the officer just as they rounded the front corner of the building.

  “I wonder if I might talk with you a moment,” Trenton said as he approached the man. He’d learned enough from Henry to read something in the officer’s expression that made Trenton sure beyond doubt that the man was approachable.

  Fifteen minutes later, Trenton was twenty dollars poorer and Henry was free. They raced for their hotel as fast as the old man could move.

  “We’d better get down to the boat,” Trenton told Henry. “I doubt we’ll be able to come back to St. Joseph again.”

  “I’m sorry about that, boy. I’m gettin’ old. Slippin’.” There was sorrow in his voice.

  “It doesn’t matter now, Henry. What matters is that we hightail it out of here and not get caught. I assured that fellow we’d be long gone by sunup, and I intend to see to it.”

  Once on the boat, Trenton parted company with Henry. The old man was given to moments of drink and tonight was certainly no exception. No doubt the close encounter with the law had shaken him up and he wanted the alcohol to steady his nerves.

  It wasn’t surprising to find the riverboat full to overflowing in spite of the enormous ticket price. Sometimes the boats were allowed to travel without any trouble and sometimes they weren’t. Trenton had even read of one boat facing the threat of being blown up by border ruffians. The tragedy had been averted by Union soldiers, but the threat was there nonetheless.

  Over the months that had passed since his father’s death, Trenton had come to look at the war and the world with new eyes. He’d grown up some—perhaps not enough, but his experience had taught him something about himself. Namely, he had no purpose or goal for his life. His friends had talked proudly of joining the Confederacy. They were excited to march off to war—to live or die for what they believed in.

  Trenton had no such aspirations. He also had no intention of going back to shopkeeping. Gambling suited him, but the guilt of it made him feel the need for daily penance. Trenton always tried to help some poor unfortunate, giving away coins or food to soothe his own conscience. But even this didn’t help. There was no purpose for his future. He had no plans to go to any particular place at any particular time. He was just drifting along in life—not knowing what tomorrow would bring. Some men might cherish the freedom, but Trenton found it a millstone around his neck.

  Dianne would no doubt have laughed at him. Once she got over the initial shock of what he was doing, that is. Dianne always had goals and plans—whether for the games they played or their talks of the future.

  She was a natural-born leader; pity she hadn’t been born a man. No one cared much for the opinions of a woman—not even one as smart and capable as his sister.

  He felt another rush of guilt, realizing that Christmas was nearly upon them and he’d made no attempt to contact his family. He’d not even bothered to check up on them and learn whether they’d arrived safely. He knew he had no one to blame but himself for that, but he always tried to assuage his conscience by promising himself he’d write soon—even send them money in case they were down on their luck. But he never did. And now their first Christmas apart would come and they’d not know where he was or how he was and he’d not know anything of them. No wonder Henry drank.

  “We’ve got the South on the run,” Trenton overheard a man at the bar announce. “The war is bound to be over soon. I’m guessing just after New Year’s. Those rebels can’t hang on much longer. Not after the way we crushed them at Nashville.”

  “I heard there were over twenty-three thousand of those rebels and still we whopped ’em,” the other man replied. “And Sherman is marching right through to the sea, killing every one of those Dixie boys as he goes.”

  The first man nodded. “South should have known better when we reelected old Honest Abe. There’s not a Confederate out there that doesn’t know they’re done for.”

  Trenton wondered if it were true. If the war came to an end, what would it mean for him—for the country? He enjoyed Henry’s companionship for the most part, but when the man got drunk like he was doing now, Trenton could scarcely abide him. Then there was also the very real fear that Jerry Wilson and his gang might still find Trenton if he remained too close to New Madrid.

  The thought of that always made Trenton feel like a fool and a coward. He’d never even found out whether Robbie’s father had lived after the bank robbery. He hated not knowing, but he couldn’t risk so much as a letter to question the family. He never stayed long enough in one place to get an answer anyway, but he could just see Jerry getting ahold of the information and somehow tracking it back to Trenton’s exact location. Jerry was cunning that way.

  “Well, here’s to victory,” the man behind Trenton said in a loud voice. “Long live the Union.” Cheers went up in the room as Trenton made his way to the door.

  He looked back at the people in the celebratory spirit. Then an image of Captain Seager clutching his chest and falling dead on Main Street came to mind. This, coupled with the picture of his father in a simple pine coffin, gave Trenton little reason to want to join in the festivities. War was not decided by words like victory and defeat. It was affixed in the blood of men who believed they were fighting for something important. But in the end, what they believed in no longer mattered. They were dead and someone else would live on to start a new cause.

  Fools, Trenton thought as he left the room. And I’m the biggest fool of them all.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE BLIZZARD CONTINUED INTO THE NIGHT AND DIANNE HAD NO choice but to stay put in the cabin. She hoped her mother might have regained her senses enough to take shelter with neighbors, but she doubted it. She kept hearing her mother’s last words over and over: “I have to find my babies.”

  Dianne added wood to the stove and turned up the lantern to dispel some of the gloominess. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the shutters, even shaking the cabin itself. Everything held fast, but Dianne’s des
peration grew. How were Dolly and the cow? How were her brothers faring? Where was their mother?

  By ten o’clock, with no end in sight to the blizzard’s rampage, Dianne took up the family Bible and sat down at the table. She had wrestled with her conscience all night. Words that Faith had shared on the trail came back to haunt her.

  “Oh, Dianne, God still cares. He hasn’t forgotten you. We can’t always understand His ways, but child, His eye is on the sparrow—He knows when even one little bird falls from a tree. Do you not imagine Him knowing and caring that Ardith fell into the river—or that your father was killed?”

  “Or that Mama is lost in a snowstorm?” she questioned, flipping through the pages of the New Testament. She paused and looked to the front door. “If only she would come walking back through—safe and happy. If only Ardith and Betsy would return to us, whole and healed.” She shook her head. If I’m going to wish for anything, I might as well start it all back with Papa. She sighed and looked back to the Bible.

  The words of the twenty-fourth chapter of Luke drew her attention. And they entered in, and found not the body of the Lord Jesus. And it came to pass, as they were much perplexed thereabout, behold, two men stood by them in shining garments: And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.

  Dianne reread the passage, not sure why it stirred her so. Was she seeking her life among the dead? Were the things that haunted her—the mistakes of the past and the losses she’d endured—binding her heart so that she might as well be dead with the others?

  “I don’t know what to do to make it right,” she said aloud. “I feel so lost and alone. I’m so afraid.”

  The men in the Scripture had been afraid too. Dianne thought for a moment of the Christmas season and of the Scriptures her father used to share with the family each year. Those, too, had been in Luke. She gently turned the pages back until she found the verses in the second chapter. She’d heard them so many times she almost knew them by memory.

  Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

  A savior, she thought. Someone to save her. That’s what she needed. That’s what they all needed—each one of them. They needed to be saved from the endless tragedies that life thrust upon them. They needed a savior to rescue them from the adversity of sickness, famine, hardship, and death.

  Could Jesus be that savior? Was it really that simple?

  He’d come as a baby, so little and pure. The angels declared his birth—shepherds came to see him, even though they were afraid.

  Dianne thought back on all her childhood Bible stories. She knew the mission of Jesus … His love of the people … His desire to show them the truth.

  His truth.

  God’s truth.

  “Why do I seek the living among the dead?” she murmured.

  “I’ve asked Jesus into my heart.” Betsy’s words rang clear in Dianne’s memory. Was it really that easy? Could she just ask Jesus into her heart— her broken heart? Would He even want such a heart?

  Tears came to Dianne’s eyes as she slipped from the table and knelt on the floor beside her chair. “Oh, God, I don’t know how much more we can stand. I don’t know how much more I can stand.” She cried softly, her face buried in her hands. “Please help me. Please take my heart and make it whole. I can’t bear this pain—this sorrow. I don’t wish to seek the living among the dead—I wish only to seek you. To know you.”

  Dianne remained there praying for some time. With each passing moment she felt the burdens of her life lift slowly away. Faith and Charity had been right. God did care—He really did.

  The night wore on and Dianne eventually took herself to bed. Exhausted, she fell immediately to sleep and didn’t awaken until an eerie silence bore down on her. She opened her eyes with a start and sat up. The storm was over.

  Having slept in her clothes, she hurried to put on her coat and boots. She would go look for her mother and hopefully bring her home to safety. Opening the door, however, Dianne found a drift nearly three feet high blocking her way. Even that seemed unimportant. She hurriedly swept at the snow, pushing it back into even higher drifts on the side of the walk.

  “What are you doing out so early?” Zane’s voice called out as he and Morgan made their way up the road.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to see you both!” she declared, forgetting her task. She threw the broom aside and ran to their arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  “We almost got caught full in the face of that blizzard,” Morgan admitted. “We took refuge just outside of town, however, when we couldn’t see to go any farther.”

  “I thought it would never stop snowing,” Zane added.

  Dianne stepped away from them. “Mama’s gone. I hate to just tell you like that, but it’s the truth of the matter and we have to find her.”

  “Gone? How? Where?” Morgan asked.

  Dianne shrugged. “I don’t know. Griselda came to visit her, so I went out back to see to Dolly and the milk cow. That went well and by then the snow had picked up, so I suggested Griselda leave. I told Mama I’d get some water for tea and be right back and then I saw Griselda out.”

  “Did she take Mama home with her?” Zane questioned.

  “No. I know she didn’t because I offered to walk home with Griselda, and Mama was in her bed. When I came back from getting water, the front door was open. I think Mama went looking for Ardith and Betsy. I’m worried sick. I know she didn’t take her coat or put on shoes.” Tears fell anew. “Oh, Zane, Morgan … I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where to look.”

  “We’ll ask the neighbors. We’ll talk to the sheriff and get some men searching for her if she isn’t nearby. You stay here and wait.”

  “But that’s all I’ve been doing,” Dianne protested. “Can’t I come look too?”

  “Someone needs to be here, Dianne,” Zane said, taking the lead. “We’ll check in periodically. Just wait here.”

  Dianne nodded, knowing there was nothing to be gained by arguing. “You’ll let me know as soon as you … find her.”

  The twins nodded solemnly. “We’ll let you know.”

  Cole Selby gritted his teeth as his father approached him at the general store. He hadn’t seen the man in nearly a year and he certainly wasn’t looking to share his company now.

  “Cole, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Where have you been, boy?”

  “Why? Are the vigilantes after me for desertion?”

  Hallam Selby took hold of his son and pulled him to the side of the store, away from other customers. “Don’t be talkin’ about it. You know better.”

  Cole scowled. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know what’s going on. Why haven’t you come back to the claim? Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been busy working. I hired on with a wagon master last spring. I saw Ma and the girls, and now I’m spending the winter doing what I can until I join another wagon train come spring.”

  “You saw your ma? How is she?”

  “Why? What would you care?” Cole’s words were sharp—bitter.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, boy. I’m your pa and you should have some respect for me.”

  Cole’s eyes narrowed. “We both know Carrie changed any hope for that.”

  “Now, don’t go getting ugly about it. You know that was an accident. Nobody feels worse about her passin’ than I do.”

  Cole doubled his fist, then thought better of carrying through with his desire to punch his father square in the face. He took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax. “All I know is Carrie is dead. It really doesn’t matter how you feel.”

  His father shifted uncomfortably and scratched his bearded chin. “So is your ma doing well?”

  “Well enough. She’s happy, which is more than I can s
ay I’ve ever seen before. The house looks great and the girls have beaus. They’re all very happy—so leave them alone.”

  “Don’t be telling me what to do, boy.”

  Cole turned to go, but his father grabbed his arm. “I could use you at the claim. Why don’t you come help me?”

  Cole stared for a moment at his father’s hand, then returned his gaze to the older man’s face. “I’m surprised with all the hangings I’ve heard about that you have time for gold mining.”

  His father leaned in and said in a hushed voice, “I’m telling you not to take that attitude with me.”

  “Cole!” Zane Chadwick approached from across the store. “Our ma’s gone missing and we’re raising a search party. Can you help?”

  “Of course. What happened?”

  “Ma and Dianne were at our cabin last night and Ma wandered away when Dianne went for water. We’ve asked the neighbors, but no one’s seen her.”

  “Let’s get to it, then.”

  “I can get some of my friends to help,” Hallam Selby offered.

  “I’d be much obliged, mister,” Zane said, turning to go.

  “Just make sure they don’t hang her,” Cole muttered only loud enough for his father to hear. He didn’t wait for any reaction.

  Cole searched for hours with the other volunteers. In the small community, when word went out that someone was in jeopardy, folks were good to rally round and see what could be done. This was evidenced by all the people combing the streets, gently prodding drifts, and shoveling aside mounds of snow that had formed against fences and walls. Murmurs circulated that there wasn’t much hope for the Chadwick woman. Cole didn’t like to take the comments seriously, but he knew the truth of what a night in a Montana winter, exposed to the elements, could do to a body. Living on the mine claim had been bad enough. He’d had the comfort of a tent and plenty of blankets and still he almost froze to death. No, the Chadwick woman was most likely dead.